Golden Son (Red Rising Trilogy, #2)(87)

“And then the traitors were two,” she calls. “House Arcos has embraced treason as well. Lorn. You stand with the lions?”

“The House Arcos stands apart,” Lorn calls back.

“Apart?” Quinn’s killer frowns and tilts her head so I can see the dueling scars on the right of her neck. Her cat eyes scan the woods for signs of a trap. “There is no such thing.”

“I was as deceived as you, Aja!” Lorn calls. “Darrow knew you were here. I don’t know how. But I am not your enemy. I want only to be left alone.”

“That was never a choice!” Aja calls. “You know this better than anyone. You are with us or you are against us, Lorn.”

“Aja. No. I have no part in this! None!”

“The strong always have a part,” I mutter.

“I will not have my hand forced.” He cuts me with an angry stare. “I have no quarrel with either of you. I am a man of peace now.”

“Then why is your blade out?” Aja smiles. “Do what you know. Come down and speak, teacher. We should not shout! Isn’t that what you said when I used to raise my voice in anger?” She eyes the griffin that now growls beside us. It’s larger than four horses. I wonder what those talons would do against their armor.

“Her ships are lost,” I whisper to Lorn. “What would Octavia have her do?”

“Kill us. For spite.”

I lower my voice. “Then you have no choice.”

“So it would seem.”

Aja watches me kneel to the ground and gather dirt in my hand. She has studied me. She knows what this must mean. And she must wonder what plan I have. Why I’ve come alone. If I really set an ambush in the sky, wouldn’t I set one below? I’m about to shout something to her when another figure steps through the gate to join Aja. He’s rangy. Darker skin than mine. A smirk on his bored, patrician face. Tactus. All in Praetorian armor. He slinks forward, a shadow of purple and black, eyeing the sky apprehensively before beaming me a lopsided smile.

“Speaking of traitors,” I shout. “Hello, Tactus. Pretty armor.”

“Reaper, my goodman!” Tactus bellows, and throws up the crux. “Where’s Sevro?” He leans in to tell Aja something. Aja straightens and looks again to the trees around. Her men condense in defensive formation. Tactus warns them of my tricks. They know something is awry. Their aegis shields activate, glittering over arms.

Lorn closes his eyes and lets his left hand into the air, feeling the whipping of the storm’s wind. “Leave Aja to me. You’ll have better luck against the Stained.”

“No. They’re all mine. Sevro, rise.”

The Howlers emerge from the sea beyond the castle. Water drips from them as they fly silently over the hundred-meter-high walls, armor glistening like black beetle shells. A golden lion has been painted on each breastplate. The gold winks as lightning flashes. They land silently around us.

“My stormsons,” I say to Lorn. Twenty new recruits have come from the families of the Howlers and the Telemanus ranks. Sevro held tryouts. I hear it was a bloody bit of fun. Snakes, alcohol and mushrooms were involved. That’s all they let me know.

“Goblin! Why are you always hiding?” Tactus calls. His voice is all jest, but he looks to the sky anxiously again. “Least it’s better than a horse’s belly this time.”

Sevro pulls out his skinning knife, the one he used to take scalps with Harpy years ago. It’s a curved customer. He taps it on his groin and points to Tactus. His eyes flick to Aja.

“You killed a Howler, Aja,” he says. “Wrong play.”

As I expected, the appearance of the Howlers reassures Aja and Tactus. This makes sense to them: I had soldiers hidden. Now I do not. A battle to the death. Honor. Pride. One force against another. The Obsidian Praetorians begin to keen their terrible throat song. All those men want is the glorious end. To join their relatives in the laughing halls of Valhalla with their blades in hand. They step forward on Aja’s command. The deadliest men and women in the Solar System, a Stained amongst them.

And I take a page from Evey’s book.

Ensuring Aja is clear, I detonate the landmine spikes I dropped on the ground as Lorn and I strolled into this forest. Only Tactus is quick enough. He grabs Aja from behind and jerks her back, hard—so hard in the lowGrav that both of them tumble in through the door just as the first explosion rips the salt air.

The explosions are tiered. First comes a concussion that disables pulseShields and scatters the Praetorians into the air. Then comes a gravPit, which pulls them back toward the source of the explosion like a vacuum collecting flies; and then comes the third—pure kinetics to destroy armor and bone and flesh, blowing the warriors outward, into the air, scattering their pieces in the low gravity like breath scatters the seeds of a dandelion. Limbs float gently down. Blood beads and spatters the ground. The explosion breaks the bubble roof overhead and rain again drifts down on the garden to extinguish the fires and thin the blood that leaks into the two dozen bomb craters. Only three Praetorians survived. They’re in poor shape.

“Do not let her escape.” Roque’s voice sears my ears. He watches my holofeed from the ships above.

My Howlers have not yet moved.

Lorn’s furious with me, saying something about honor.

“What?” I sneer. “You think I fight fair?”